Page 71 of The Don's Prima Donna

With the painkillers for the gunshot wound no longer necessary, my senses are clamoring back in full force.

The grief roars back with a vengeance, screaming at me louder than Philippe’s encouraging voice when he sits next to me and begs me to eat something. And then there’s the guilt for being so selfish as to enjoy Philippe's company and allowing me to forget about my parents, even if it’s just for a few seconds.

I'm pushing Philippe away, afraid of how much joy he brings me. Even joy feels like a betrayal. I think he can read my mindbecause, for the past week, he hasn't asked twice when I’ve said no once.

An emptiness has taken root inside my chest, an ache that threatens to swallow me whole. The days drag on. I now eat alone in my room. Sometimes, Philippe drops by for fifteen minutes, has a cup of tea, and then leaves when I pretend to fall asleep.

He's a patient man, and I know this can't go on forever. But for now, this is what I need.

Martin has come by at the same time every day for the past few days. I hear his footsteps echoing in the hallway before he raps his knuckles against my bedroom door. "Tatiana? Can I come in?"

I don't answer. I'm curled up on the bed, staring out the window at the slate-gray sky. The bullet wound in my arm throbs dully. I wish the doctor hadn't reduced my medicines.

The door creaks open. "Tatiana, it’s me, Martin.” He walks over quietly. The mattress dips as Martin sits down beside me. "You're in the same clothes as yesterday.”

I shrug. My wardrobe is the furthest thing from my mind right now.

"I'm worried about you, Tatiana. You can't go on like this. When was the last time you stepped out of this room," he probes.

I ignore him, my gaze locked onto the window. Martin's hand finds mine, his skin warm against my cold fingers. “Have you given any more thought to what we talked about yesterday - when you’re going to start singing again?"

Singing. The thought knots my stomach. My career, my passion for singing — all of it died in that house with my parents.

I yank my hand from his grasp. "I never want to sing again,” I answered bitterly.

"You have so much talent, Tatiana. Your whole life still lies before you. Don’t throw that all away. Your parents wouldn’t want that.”

Although he speaks gently, his words cut like a knife. I flinch away from him, blinking back tears. "Leave me alone."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I'm trying to help you, Tatiana."

"Well, stop trying!" I raise my voice. "Just leave me here to rot. That's what I want!"

For a long moment, Martin looks at me, his eyes searching my face. Then he stands, the bed creaking as it releases his weight.

"Call me if you need anything," he says softly before slipping out the door. "I'll be back tomorrow."

The silence that follows is deafening. I curl into myself, sobs wracking my body. The world can burn for all I care. There’s nothing left for me now that they’re gone. All I want is the solace of darkness, a place where the pain can’t find me.

A place without Martin and his useless platitudes. A place without the memories that haunt my every waking moment. I long for the blissful numbness to return. Instead, I take comfort in the knowledge that, one day, I’ll find my way back to my parents.

The next day, Martin is back again. This time, I answer when he knocks. He walks into the room and takes a seat by the window. I sigh, “Martin, you don’t have to come by every day.”

He gives me an earnest look. “Tatiana, you can’t hide from the world forever.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands. “When are you going to get back to your life? To your career? Your fans miss you. I miss you," he implores.

"Martin, don’t you understand? I. Don't. Have. A life!” My anger at his incessant visits spills over. “My life ended with my parents. I already told you I never want to sing again!” And with that, I turn my back on him and press a pillow over my head.

Just as I think he might have left, I feel him grasping my shoulder and giving me a shake. "Tatiana, stop this!"

I rip off the pillow and glare at him. He’s standing now, towering over me.

"Snap out of it! You're acting like an impertinent child. Grow the hell up."

A wave of anger crests and crashes over me. With a shriek, I slap his hands away. "Get out! Get out now!" I grab the nearest thing, an empty coffee mug, and hurl it at him.

He ducks, eyes wide with shock and hurt. For a long moment, we stare at each other, chests heaving. The coffee mug rolls and comes to rest on the carpet. I can feel the sobs building in my chest, strangling me.

Then Martin straightens, jaw set in a hard line. He stands and stuffs his hands in his pockets, averting his gaze. When he looks back at me, his eyes flash with anger. "Tatiana, you're crossing the line here."

---